Burnout
by CrispyKid
Summary: "It's better to burn out than to fade away"
1. Chapter 1

**warning: sex, drugs, n' rock n' roll. (quote in summary by Kurt Cobain)  
**

{{{

"So, class" the instructor paces in front of the group of exhausted children. It's the last day of training before break and mentally, the students are already at the tropical destinations their doting families will transport them to in a few short (long) hours. But first there's something that needs to be done.

"Out of all of you, who has demonstrated the most weakness over the course of this semester?" Some of the children glance nervously at their peers, while others avoid eye contact, opting to study their hands or look anywhere other than the instructor (through the strongest ones will look him right in the eye and you either got it or you don't).

"Now of course we've got a few ideas, but we wanted to hear from you to change things up a bit" he begins to distribute wads of paper and tossi handfuls of pens into the circle.

"not putting down a name isn't an option, unless you want to secure yourself a spot on the list" he grins at the kids as they scribble the name of one their peers, hoping in turn that their name evades the description. They were trained from an early age to sniff out weakness like dogs, and the precision with witch some of them could spot cracks in their peers shells was startling. They were young and still sane, the hours of rigorous training had effected them physically-they were lean and healthy-though not entirely mentally.

The kids passed their folded slips to the front, wanting to get it over with but at the same time dragging it out because for one of them, their time is running low.

The instructor smirks as he flips through the papers. "Interesting, very interesting" the children stir and fidget madly in the pressing silence."It seems that great minds think alike" he drawled, "as most of you have correctly identified our weakest member. excellent job class, well done" He beams at them but his smile looks like it might wither and fall off. "now with out further ado..."

He calls the name of an average sized girl who has no physical faults but who is a bit thick headed and whose rational is often muddled with emotion. The other kids deflate and the collective angst is shattered by individual despair, as the little girl, too shocked to cry (she'll cry later) is lifted by her arms, her eyes wide and dilated with stress and betrayal. The other children avoid her gaze, sensing that the weakness in her eyes might ignite their own, so carefully stowed away.

"very good" the instructor positions the shaking girl in front of her classmates. "Now, who get's the honors?" He scans the group of kids, smiling though his humanity is beginning to seep through his callousness and he wrings his hands nervously. He paces in front of the children, staring at him blankly.

"well, some one speak now, we don't got all day. Can't you all think of anyone...?"

They all do, every single one of them, yet they don't vocalize it because her name tastes like blood in their mouths.

They don't have to, because she can feel them chanting her name in their minds, knows that she's the only one. She stands and strides to the front of the room, callus and collected, though it's clear that her composure requires effort and that inside she's itchy and irritable with sadism.

The instructor smirks at her, and she smirks right back, both of them knowing all along. He hands her a knife but she already has one tucked into the waistband of her pants. She unsheathes it and her gaze shifts to the girl, staring her dead in the eye.

"ah, Clover" he clasps her on the back "nice of you to volunteer your services"

"call me Clover again and you may find yourself on the receiving end" she strides past him, never breaking the gripping focus on her unfortunate target. She positions herself ten feet away from the girl, give or take. Unlike the other children, whose eyes absorb the weakness of the sacrificial lamb, clove's refract it, playing with it and then launching it back at the girl, the force of witch makes her flinch.

Clove plays the moment, high on her own adrenaline, which simmers on the attention and fear of the kids behind her.

Then there's a knife in the girl's stomach and now she's really crying and there's blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. Clove is clutching desperately at her calm demeanor, trying to contain her insanity a bit longer, but the pain seeping from the child in front of her is too much, and she sheds the mask, coming undone. With in seconds she's on the girl, knocking her to her feet, stabbing and slashing and the pain of her writhing victim is addicting. She wants the girl dead but not dead, the gratification of her damage bordering something sexual, something wild and that defies sanity, that festers with in her and that she secretly fears as much as everyone.

She doesn't stop when the instructor tells her to. She doesn't stop when some of her peers begin to vomit or cry despite themselves. She finally stops when the instructor pins her arms down and pries her off the disfigured corpse, her pale skin adorned with blood, her clothes sodden with it.

"Clove-" he stops himself before he gives her a reason to turn on him. "Clove, you need to stop" she flails wildly against him, as if her life depends on the continued mutilation of the body.

"Clove, Can you hear me?!" He pins her to the ground, pressing her face into the mat. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

The other children had already been dismissed, to their dorms or on vacation if their parents still cared about them.

When it's clear she's not calming down anytime soon, the instructor wrestles her into the solitary confinement room, locking the sound proof door behind her. He's now covering in blood and quite honestly disturbed by the eleven year old in the padded cell. The camera on the ceiling would allow for the security to keep track of her and they would let her out when she exhausted herself. In the mean while, he needs a hot shower.

Once Clove manages to get a firm enough grasp on reality, she pitifully drags herself down from heaven, or maybe it's up from hell (she really has no idea, she's so lost in her own mind). She doesn't remember what happened after the first knife, only the blue eyes of the condemned girl-the weak one-and those meant nothing to her.

The irony hit her in the face.

Because she was the weak one. She had come undone and she had lost control and she had lost herself. Her fury was thick in her throat and pounding in her head and she raked her nails down her arm, fresh blood running down her arm, coating the dry and cracked stuff from the girl. She bit her lip until it split and rammed her head into the wall though it was padded so no damage ensued. She shrieked in frustration and grabbed three of her fingers, bending then back wards until they snapped, one after the other. Tears trailed paths through the blood on her face, her skin hot and flushed with pain. Heaving, she pulls at her hair rakes her nails down her bare chest, the blood seeping into the waistband of her pants.

She was weak, and now she was being punished.

{{{

"These are for the morning" The nurse hands the instructor a bottle of colorful pills. Clove, fidgety and heavily drugged, stands beside him, her bandaged hand clutching his large one. She had been in the infirmary for three days after nearly bleeding to death in the padded cell. They had figured that whatever happened was not a result of simply a result of poor self control of blood lust. She was psychotic and and they weren't sure if that was good or bad.

"And these are for the evening, before she goes to bed. Three of them" The instructor nods and drags a sluggish Clove to her dorm, the only one with a single inhabitant. Her roommate died about a year ago, and no one really knows how because the institution wishes not to disclose that information.

He sits her down and shoves the pills in her mouth, leaving without a second glance. Her thoughts are diluted with morphine and sedatives, but she knows she can't swallow. Knows that the second she does she'll submit ans she'll be even weaker than before.

}}}

She spends the rest of break alone in her dorm, wrestling for control of her mind. Insanity was just below her, soft and dark, luring her down and wrapping her gently in oblivion, murmuring soft requiems.

{{{

It's been nearly two years, but the other children take great care in avoiding her. The don't look at her, don't sit near her in the cafeteria. She doesn't mind though, they're all stupid anyways. She throws her knives mechanically, hitting target after target, dead center. The trainers praise her but it means nothing to her and she realizes she hates them all. Sometimes she has to turn away for a second because the rubber face of the dummy morphs into the terrified one of the girl. At night she curls in her bed, the look in that little girl's eyes playing in her head over and over again, warping in her mind like a broken player.

She hates herself so much, knows she's being weak and pathetic. She thought killing the girl would make her stronger, shatter whatever morals restraining her; whispering second thoughts. But it didn't and now clove wishes she were on the receiving end of that lethal blow she had so confidently dealt.

}}}

"alright everybody, we're practicing combat today so you'll all be partnered up. You can mostly use your weapon of choice but try and branch out a bit. And please try and avoid fatal injuries" the instructor glances at the group of teens before him, already searching for loopholes that would allow them to ease their blood lust, if only temporarily. "...Is everyone clear on what I mean by fatal injury?" The group confirms that they do, but everyone knows it's bullshit and that most likely, someone will end up broken on the floor.

"alright then, I'll tell you who you're with for today" he reads through the list as people size up their opponents. Clove sighs when she hears her name along with Cato's, a boy about a year older than her and one who starts fights in the halls, flaunting his obnoxious and brutish attitude and suffocating everyone with his inflamed ego. She rolls her eyes and grabs her knives as he trudges to meet her, sword trailing behind him and practically begging to slice someone's leg off.

He sneers at her and she finds it slightly intimidating that he's not intimidated by her. What really bothers her though is that she can see in him uncontrolled and free what she keeps so carefully contained. They're both unhinged but where clove clutches herself together to the point where her fingers become raw, cato breaks open and unleashes his demons on his victims. This terrifies Clove because it means he's unpredictable and that he has no control so he'll fight like a cornered animal. It means that she'll have to confront fire with fire and in doing so reopen her wound, the festering one that's been bursting at the seams, never healing beneath the shiny skin.

She continues to analyze him and he just stands there and smirks at her. No blood is drawn that day, but it's the beginning of a far more complex battle.

{{{

That night she's the one being held in place by the instructor as she watches herself prepare the knife. She frantically searches for mercy in the faces of the other children, pleading for someone to do something stupid and irrational so she can maybe get away or at least die trying. But they stare back at her blankly, too relived to care about anything else. It's one of those dreams where she's expiring it in first person but also as a spectator, so she watches as the knife penetrates her stomach, and a second later the pain is surging through her veins and spreading through out her body and her brain can barely process it. The blood is streaming down her shirt and she can hear herself screaming but she feels like she's underwater as her lungs fill with blood. Oh god she's going to vomit-

She wakes, screaming and convulsing on her thin mattress. Somewhere in her consciousness, she knows she's awake but the pain isn't going away and she can't see. Frantically, she stumbles out of her bed and some how makes it across the hallway and into the bathroom, kneeling before the toilet and depositing what's left of her stomach. Resting her head on the lid, she becomes aware of a stinging sensation on her arms and looks down, mildly surprised to find raw flesh, slick and glistening with blood in the humming lights.

}}}

Clove drags herself to her classes, arms concealed under a heavy black hoodie. She almost doesn't see the point in attending; she's failing out of most of them. She just can't bring herself to care, and staying awake is a struggle in itself. But more than three absences a year result in reduced training hours so there she is, huddled in her seat, purple rings under her red eyes, hood shrouding them from the obnoxiously bright light. She hates math.

{{{

Any connection formerly established with Cato seems to have disappeared. She had had the upper hand yesterday, cold and calculating while he had been wild irrational. People like that die. They were weak, stumbling around blindly and fueled on their emotions. Clove had crossed the bridge to insanity and she had been weak and stupid but now she was back and she was in control.

_and look at me now._

"come at me, bitch" Cato leers, sword in hand. She was weaker than ever and he could feel it, circling her like a shark. She gripped a knife in each hand, her knuckles white and the tension in her skin reopening the cuts. She could feel the insanity, the sadism seeping into her veins, her eyes establishing a target in the crook of his neck. But she was shaking so bad and her vision was bleary. She wants to sleep-needs to sleep. Her body is shutting down and Cato takes advantage, pinning her against her against the wall.

"something wrong?" he smirks, so close that she can see the flecks in his blue eyes. There's something strange about his eyes and she tries to look away but he pins her neck to the wall. His tongue flicks her ear lobe and she hisses because it's fucked up and she knows that the presence of the instructor and the other students wouldn't stop him from raping her right there against the wall if her wanted to. He squeezes her wrist and she flinches, digging her nails into her fist. Cato notices, giggling in some sort of twisted pleasure as her pulls up her sleeve.

"well, what's this now?" He presses his thumb into the already irritated wound, biting down on her neck. He's radiating so much heat; their feverish proximity is making her eyes sting and her head pound, conducting the searing pain through her nerves.

"d-dont" she manages to grit out through clenched teeth as he sucks on her collarbone, never loosening his grip on her wrist. He pulls away slowly, staring her in the eye, skin flushed and panting heavily.

"why not?" he murmurs in a tone that tells her he doesn't really give a shit and that he'll do it anyway. But at that moment she doesn't bother formulating a response because she found a crack in his armor. His pupils. They're enormous. she shifts her gaze to his arm and at first doesn't see anything out of the ordinary; some cuts and bruises from training. But then she manages to make out the puncture marks, the scrapes from training infected welts hidden in plain sight. Now all she needs is a way to get at them.

So she kisses him. He seems skeptical at first but soon whatever rationality he maintains is overridden by rage and lust, his grip on her wrist slowly slackening as he aggressively kisses her back.

_poor, stupid thing._

She grips the hilt of her knife in her sweaty palm, hesitating yet knowing that if she doesn't act soon, her moment will pass. But she knows that the second that blade sinks into his flesh, things that she so carefully locked away will come surging out, drowning her in her sins. She barely survived the last time, and this time she doesn't know if she's strong enough to stay afloat.

But she doesn't really have a choice, so she bores her knife into his arm, forcing it down until she feels the resistance of bone. Cato bellows, dropping to his knees as blood cascades from the wound, pooling on the waxed floor. Some of the children spare him a brief glance before returning to their partners; injuries like this are not uncommon.

Cato cradles his arm, face screwed up in agony. Clove watches him, trying to remain upright. Her head is spinning and she blinks frantically, trying to keep Cato's face from morphing into that of the little girls from all those years ago. His blue eyes, his hair-oh god-

She's going to end this. It's killing her and that's unacceptable because she's a killer and invincible.

She lunges at him, stabbing manically at any exposed flesh. She's dizzy and her vision is spotted but she can smell blood and hear metal against flesh. Then her head jolts back and there's a searing pain in her eye, a static display of colors behind her swollen shut hand goes to shield the injured area as the other continues it's crusade, but it's too late; Cato shoves her backwards, and there's a sickening crack as her arm breaks the initial crawls on top of her, injured arm pinned to his side as he grabs her neck in his free hand and squeezes. She gags as her pale face begins to acquire a bluish hue, writhing and straining beneath him.

"If you fucking tell anyone about my arm, I will fucking murder you" he snarls between sobs. "do you understand?" She tries to nod but his hand is in the way, opens her mouth but all that comes out is a chocking noise. Cato, realizing her situation, loosens his grip slightly, and she begins heaving, her face plastered with blood and sweat

"_do you fucking understand_?"

"y-yes" she sputters between coughs. He attempts to move away, but he's shaking so badly that he gives up and collapses a few feet away from her.

}}}

Two days later, she leaves the infirmary with three pins in her wrist and a generous supply of painkillers. She shuffles back to her dorm and flicks on her shitty television; every dorm now has one, courtesy of some kid's wealthy parents.

She tries to hold out, she really does, but six hours later her arm feels as if it's being re-broken and she has to give in or there's no way she'll make it through the night.

_They said two right? they're so tiny though, better take four; shit this really kills. just for tonight when it's at it's worst..._

She dry-swallows all four- too lazy to get water from the bathrooms-plus one for good measures. She resumes her curled position in front of the TV, though the volume has decreased and poor display quality suddenly vibrant and while not yet three-dimensional, not two-dimensional either. She can feel the pills gliding down her throat, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. A gentle tingling sensation spreads over her skin, and it's almost as if she can feel the thoughts in her brain, feel them shrivel up and fade away in a mild breeze. She bursts into spontaneous laughter, drunk on her own freedom. Nothing matters and nothing ever has mattered, and nothing will ever matter. Her face is numb and her mind is numb and she closes her eyes and lets herself float further and further away. No Cato, no wide-eyed doomed girl. No sanity and therefore no insanity.

Just nothing but a warm tingly sensation and a summer breeze.

{{{

She's exempt from training for a week in order to heal. Now it's Friday and she stares at the empty pill bottle, figuring it had to end sooner or later. She can hardly feel the pain any more.

_(the pain in my arm, that's why I took it in the first place right?)_

Still riding out her four-day binge, she giggles at her distorted reflection in the plastic bottle.

}}}

She awakes drenched in sweat and trembling with aches. She can barely sit up in bed before the nausea creeps into her throat and she half sprints half stumbles to the bathroom, hand clamped over her mouth. She clutches the sink, the once mild iridescent light now brighter than the sun and blaring into her eyes. She wrenches and gags-she hasn't eaten much in the past few days-until the initial nausea subsides and then she sinks to ground, aching and crying.

"hey"

Clove doesn't have to remove her head from her arms to know who it is. "the fuck are you doing in the girls bathroom?" she mumbles.

"well the others guys are always doing something stupid in mine so I figured I'd come down here and join you ladies, ya know, get high in peace" His voice sounds like he's speaking to her from across a mountain range, the echos rippling through her brain.

"so what brings you here?" he asks casually, though it's obvious he knows and that now he's going to exploit her weakness just like she did to him.

"I gotta flu or something, ok? just fuck off"  
He laughs, a wheezing, slightly psychotic laugh that rapidly evolves into a coughing fit.

detecting that he's not as healthy as he comes off, she spares him a glance, fighting off the light that immediately assaults her eyes. He looks worse than she pictured based on his voice; propped against the wall, skin pallid in the overhead lights. But it's his arm that catches her attention. Bulging veins feed into a swollen, puss-filled, gash, the surrounding skin various shades of blacks and purples, the infection having already spread throughout his body. Even in his idle state it's clear it's causing him pain, though he hides it well.

"shit Cato, your arm..." Her eyes widen in shock as she realizes that her knife dealt that very blow.

"yeah, you kinda hit my favorite vein, I hadda go in anyways. Painful as fuck, but hey, not like I coulda gone to the infirmary with needle marks down my arm"

"I need some, just one hit, please, I'm fucking dying" As she says it she can tell that 'just one hit' will turn into many, but she's too desperate to think about even the near future because her skin is burning and something heavy is slamming into her head.

he chuckles bitterly, suppressing a coughing fit. "Ya take this shit, your fuckin' the devil. Best fuck'a your life, but in the end it's still the devil."

"I don't really have anything to lose" as those words leave her lips she realizes how truly accurate they really are. She sleepwalks through her days, flails and shrieks and occasionally vomits through her nights. She can barely keep her food down when she does feel like eating. She'll probably die soon, so fuck it all, she'll enjoy her ride to hell.

He rises to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall for support. "c'mon, I got extra needles in my room"

{{{

**A/N: so...yeah. I'll do maybe another few chapters or whatever.**


	2. Chapter 2

Clove hurls knife after knife at the rubber dummies, electricity surging through her veins . Aiming seems almost effortless, the blade impaling the target point every time. She pulses with energy, dancing through rounds and fidgeting with anything she can get her hands on- including her knives- and as a result her fingers are sliced and bloody, but she doesn't mind really, because everything's moving at light speed and it's thrilling and amazing and she's beautiful and in control.

Deep down something whispers that it's all just an illusion but she shoves it away and it's almost like it's not there.

"Alright, everybody let's gather in the center here, we're gonna have an Elimination and it's your first one so you're all gonna need to listen up" The instructor bellows as the students begin approach him wearily, both terrified and excited at the prospect of the upcoming activity. Clove finishes her round, all six knives firmly lodged in the dummy's rubber skull, before joining her classmates in the center of gymnasium.

"If you've all been paying attention in your history classes, you'll have probably heard about this guy named Darwin" The instructor drawls, surveying the group before him. "Darwin was a naturalist-everyone know what that is? yeah? Well he had this theory called Natural Selection that basically says that within one population, some species will die off from natural causes while others will prevail. Maybe one is more adaptable to climate changes, while the other is more prone to a certain disease." He pauses, allowing the information to sink in as he assesses the group of restless teens.

"Now of course, this takes place over the course of a hundred or so years." He pauses, mainly for effect, and the students glance at him expectantly in the silence. "here at the Institution, we allow individuals to enter the games starting at sixteen. That means for most of you two years, some of you only one. So we need to narrow it down with in that time frame, and nature likes to take it's time. So we're gonna apply this theory, with some adjustments. I suppose you could call it ...unnatural selection." At this, Clove perks up, sensing the direction in which he's going.

"right now there are about fifty of you, give or take. You'll be paired up, but this time you don't have to worry about when to stop or what exactly qualifies as a fatal injury." He pauses again, grinning down at the expressions of fear, and thrill and blood lust as more and more catch on.

"you may use your weapon of choice, and you have the rest of the day. This time, you will be fighting to the death" Some of the kids gasp and a few choke back sobs. Clove rolls her eyes. Don't they know by now? you can't be so vulnerable, so human. It's fucking pathetic.

She watches Cato choose a sword approach a boy slightly bulkier than himself before her name is called along with a girl who she's never spoken to before but shares a few classes with. She grabs her knife, waiting impatiently for her opponent to select her blade. The other girl is slightly shorter and has a more muscular build; Clove has always been on the skinnier side. They orbit the spot in which they will inevitably converge when one reaches her breaking will wait, slowly erode the girl's exterior courage and then strike when her raw insides thaw and her emotions are freed like flesh eating bacteria.

]

When she was little her mother would never look her in the eye because she claimed she saw the devil in them.

[

Clove's jerky movements intimidate her and it's only a matter of time before she snaps under the pressure of fear. As the other girl seizes her up, clove notes by the way she holds her knife that she's an attacker and not a thrower which is sad because you really have to know both if you want to survive. It make Clove second-guess her calculation though, because attackers tend to play defensive. She decides to wait though, because clearly this girl is a cornered animal and Clove wants to draw her out of her cave where she's confused and unsure.

The girl, clearly waiting for Clove to attack, falters a bit when it becomes clear that her opponent is also set on playing defensive but quickly composes herself and recalculates her strategy while Clove waits patiently and though it doesn't show, it takes a great deal of effort because she can feel her carefully constructed mask slipping, and she can't hold it in place because the stuff she and Cato did last night is still in her system and it amplifies her adrenaline and raging blood lust.

She's getting bored. Her wrist twitches in anticipation and her heart is in overdrive. Her mind calculates erratically, analyzing her opponent. The room is stuffy with tension and she can feel a crescendo rising at fever pitch.

And then there's a knife flying through the air and when it lodges itself in the girl's neck Clove can't tell if half a second or half a millennium has passed. The girl is dead on the ground now and clove gapes at her, wanting desperately to look away but unable too. The colors are way too vivid and she can hear the light humming statically. She backs away, supporting herself against the weapons rack as a throbbing wave of dizziness rams into her. She stares in horror as the girl's features melt like wax, morphing into her own.

The scene before her flickers and she clutches the weapons rack in a desperate attempt to stay upright. Suddenly she's facing herself, staring at her own leering face and wild eyes as they methodically hack away at her mind. She can feel how her body is different; stronger and healthier and knows that she must be the other girl. They circle each other, other Clove jumpy and panting at the effort of maintaining her composure. The girl's knives feel odd to her but she can't seem to manipulate the fists.

She knows what comes next because she's done it a thousand times before but the pain gets worse every time, a few seconds of numbness while the nerves go into overdrive, and then the searing pain surges through her body, paralyzing her organs so her breathing comes in short rasps, blood trickling from her mouth. Sweat gathers on her forehead as she strains against death, her cells working in vain to clot the wound. from the corner of her eye she notices other Clove standing before her, face shimmering as it flicks between Clove's and her first victim's as if it can't decide who it wants to be. Delirium is creeping into the edges of her mind as other Clove kneels beside her, begging her to please, please jut stay with her and she's sorry-

She's falling, flailing wildly in the air as screams echo all around her, louder and louder. The collision with reality is a rough one, the impact rippling through her body, coughing as heaving, she holds on to the weapon rack for dear life as the world spins around her at light speed.

}}}

"Cato, you can't just keep numbing it like that, the infection'll get worse and your whole fucking arm'll fall off" Clove murmurs lazily as she watches him inject an almost lethal dose of Vicodin directly into the festering wound, sighing as the pain immediately dissipates and the numbness seizes his body. She's strung out on her own head rush, sprawled out on his bed and giggling as the fuzzy darkness forms shapes against the ceiling.

"see if I care" he caps the needle and places it on his desk before crawling on top of her, a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he begins to suck on her neck. She giggles , Cato's attention heightening her ecstasy and she can't tell if she's flying or falling but it doesn't really matter.

"what...happened...to you...earlier?" His voice is husky and slightly slurred between kisses and it takes her a minute to figure out what he's referring to.

"oh...I uh...the stuff we did last night made me see some weird shit" She could deal with dreams. They were chilling but at least she would always wake up in the end. Now her worst nightmares seem to occur when she's awake. It was as if the line between her consciousness and subconsciousness had been erased and things she wasn't even aware she was thinking were blow out of proportion. Her demons are conspiring and they have found a way to break her.

"yeah, speed'll fuck ya up bad. Once I almos' jumped offa fuckin' building. Vic's cool though, real cool" Cato slurs, eyes heavy and that stupid smile plastered on his face. The feverish heat radiating off of his body makes her eyes sting.

"do you ever think about the games?" she asks randomly, tracing the contours of his face with a spidery finger.

"yes." he answers simply, rolling off of her and onto his back so they lie side by side, sexual endeavors cast aside as the Vicodin liberates his pent up exhaustion and his eye lids flutter. She wonders if he'll volunteer and figures he probably will, just to get away from it all. His options are pretty bleak and he knows it. He can slowly waste away here until all his brain cells have fried and he doesn't notice if he's shit himself or not or he can die fighting in the arena, because all he ever does is fight and he's getting really fucking tired.

{{{

"I need a volunteer" the instructor adresses the sleepy-looking teenagers assembled in the center of the gym. They stare blankly back at him, still sore from yesterday. Clove sniffles, dragging her sleeve across her raw nose. She ran out of stuff this morning, nearly screaming when she woke up to find the clear packet empty. The panic she felt at that moment was unlike anything she had felt in her life. The utter sense of betrayal and hopelessness made her want to die. No, it made her want to kill. _How the fuck could she be out, she just got some like a day ago! _She was furious and she told herself that it was directed at Cato because he didn't her enough but who was she kidding, she hated herself. At least yesterday's training gave an excuse for her aches.

"I said I needed a volunteer!" he barks, and this time students tentatively raise their hands, careful to draw as little of his attention as possible. He nods approvingly at the selection, eyes wandering over finger tips as he appears to be considering the lucky student, but the smirk on his face says other wise. He already made his pick and he probably made it a while ago.

"Cato, my boy, not feeling particularly generous today?" He mocks when he notices both of Cato's hands in his pockets.

"Why don't you help us out today, hmm?" He motions for a disheveled Cato to join him up front. his face wavers for a moment before the stolid expression returns and he lazily maneuvers his way to the front of the room.

"Cato and I are going to demonstrate some hand to hand techniques, and then we're going to pair up and practice them, ok?" She watches as Cato forgets how to breathe for a second. They exchange a brief glance and the only thing she can offer him is a small nod. For a second, and no more than that, she considers volunteering for him but that seems a little too heroic and she dismisses it.

"Now Cato's going to stand right here," he drags Cato to a red X on the floor "He's approaching me from behind, most likely going for a head lock," Cato jams his shaking hands into his pockets, gritting his teeth ans taking a step forward.

"Watch carefully now..." The instructor flexes his meaty fingers as Cato advances, trying to control his breathing. Clove wants to look away but something sadistic within her holds her eyes in place.

The instructor whirls around, punches Cato in the stomach.

And twists his arm behind his back.

Cato's blood curdling shriek was more chilling than any she would ever hear in the arena.

**a/n: so I didn't like this one much or at least I thought the first was better, and hopefully the next will be more interesting. Also, as you can tell, my spelling and grammar are not stellar, so if any of you beta, hit me up. I'd be interested in trying you out.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Her eyes are wide and dark, her skin grey in the dull light. Her eyes are blood shot and her shirt hangs loosely on her collar bones, skeletal hand gripping the hilt of a dagger. He stands opposite her, Sword ready to deflect any lethal blows. _

_With out any warning she lashes out, dodging his sword and landing a shallow gash on his thigh before recoiling from the reach of the sword, wincing slightly as she falls back into her defensive stance. Cato brings his sword down for a blow to her shoulder and this time she's only partially able to avoid the blow, gritting her teeth at the pain as the wound swells with blood. _

_He prepares to wield another blow when a stinging pain erupts in the crook of his neck, hot blood dripping under his shirt. _

_how did she..?_

_But he realizes she didn't; how could she? She's stood before him the entire time, defensively clutching her knife yet looking just as puzzled as he does. He fingers the wound gingerly, rubbing the blood into the grooves of his finger prints. Perhaps she was so agile and devious that she managed to slip in an unnoticed blow, going for his jugular but missed...?_

_He gasps as sharp pain bites his wrist and stares in awe and horror as the gash slowly lengthens, welling with fresh blood. He looks up at a bewildered Clove, slowly dragging her blade along her wrist in an identical pattern. her chapped lips form a twisted smile as she presses the blade deeper, and Cato bites down on the inside of his cheek. She doesn't even seem to notice the pain, or maybe she even enjoys it, fucking masochistic slut. _

_If he doesn't do something he knows she'll keep going until they both die. She has no regard for her own life or for anyone else's. She's reckless and relentless and fucked up. She thrives off of pain because it's the only thing she can feel without breaking and it's the only thing she knows how to give._

_He grits his teeth in preparation, already feeling the pain. He exhales, thrusting his sword through stomach until it pierces through his back in one swift motion. He clutches his side, lowing himself to the ground. Her anguished shriek a few feet away somehow makes it hurt worse and he mentally begs her to finish it for them. Out of the corner of her eye he can see her hesitate, knife against her throat. Her shirt is saturated with blood and her body rakes with little spasms as her breathing becomes increasingly labored. She's in a great deal of pain and she wants it to end but there's a part of her that craves it more than anything._

_"Do it just fucking do it already!" he rasps out, blood seeping through his fingers as he heaves for air, lungs collapsing. She turns her head so he can see her eyes, pupils dilated this time from pain instead of crack. She presses the blade into her neck, closing her eyes. Neck stinging, he does the same so he doesn't have to die staring into her eyes. _

}}}

He doesn't know where he is but he is almost positive that he is alive and that confuses him because Clove killed them. He doesn't believe in heaven and he's already been to hell. The burning pain in his side is still there and there's a new pain that feels as if his arm has been ripped off and crudely reattached. A pretty dark haired girl flashes before his eyes but her name escapes him.

"I know you're awake, Cato"

_who the fuck keeps stabbing my arm?_

"You're a very lucky boy, Cato." As he slowly regains consciousness the pain is becoming more and more intense.

"my...arm..." he mumbles incoherently.

"ah yes, that was a nasty infection you got there, we almost had to amputate it. But the doctor thought he could save it and went in a just removed the necrosis. Shame really, you would've looked great on a an anti-drug poster. Very photogenic, nice jaw line."

"does it hurt?" the voice asks, and Cato had to give it credit for even bothering to pretend to sound concerned. Cato doesn't bother to respond, face screwed up in pain. He clamps his mouth shut because he feels the need to cry out.

"mid way through the operation we realized we couldn't give you any painkillers. you have such a high tolerance to them by now that we would have to administer a lethal dose in order to numb you up."

"fuck...my side...oh god... ya gotta give me something anything, please!" the searing pain was making it difficult to breathe, each inflation of his lungs provoking a new wave of agony

"right, almost forgot about that one. your liver was almost completely shut down and the tissue was starting to die. we removed almost half of it. Don't worry though, the liver is one of the few organs in the human body that can regenerate itself. Isn't that fascinating?"

"I-I can't breathe...please! I don' care if I die jus' make the pain go away!" He doesn't even care how pathetic he sounds or that he's curled into a ball. He's on fire and why the fuck can't this man see him burning alive? He heaves desperately, the effort aggravating his poorly bandaged stitches.

"you really are having trouble breathing aren't you? must be going into shock. Hold on." He fiddles with some medical equipment on the wall.

"I'm going to have to give you this, unfortunately it's not a pain killer, but it does make you lie still" Before Cato can object, there's a prick in his arm and over the course of several seconds, every single muscle in his body slackens and he goes completely limp. He attempts to draw a another gasping breath-throat dry and sore-when he realizes in horror that he can't open his mouth. His lungs won't move. His heart thuds erratically, desperately straining against his failing body.

"Now, I can tell you this won't hurt, but chances are it probably will" The man informs him nonchalantly. He plunges a scalpel into Cato's throat, creating an inch-long gash. Cato lies helpless as his airway is punctured and a breathing tube is inserted down his throat. He strains against his paralysis but his body is locked in place and there's nothing he can do but lie there and burn.

{{{

She jiggles the pin around in the lock. The lighting in the hallways is rather poor and she has to rely mainly on her sense of touch. She's done this enough times though, and it only takes a few tries before the lock clicks softly and she enters the room, locking the door behind her. His room is cold and the acrid reek of crack hangs thick in the air. Clothes are strewn haphazardly around the floor and torn school work and mirror shards cover the desk. She makes a beeline for his bed, throwing the blankets to the side and lifting a corner of the mattress, searching desperately for a foil packet or a bottle or a baggie, anything.

There's nothing.

She pulls the mattress higher, groping around underneath it, shaking it, refusing to believe that there's nothing there. Eyes watering and nose running, she sets the mattress down and frantically scrambles into the bathroom, trying to remember which tile conceals her and Cato's emergency stash. There, the chipped one! She digs her nails under it in a feverish effort to dislodge the tile, cold sweat rolling down the back of her neck-

there's nothing there either.

She hurls the tile against the wall, sobbing as she lies down on the cold tiles, pressing her feverish cheek against the cool floor as her body throbs rhythmically to waves of hot and cold.

They knew and they searched his room and found it all and now she'll just die here.

}}}

"We have decided to punish you" the cold woman pacing in front of his bed informs him, because surgery without painkillers and withdrawal symptoms are clearly not enough.

He is no longer paralyzed but rather restrained, thick plastic cuffs pinning his wrists above his head and electrode patches on his chest and head, ready to administer a lethal amount of electricity if they detect too much motion.

"But we're also giving you the opportunity of a life time. I guess it depends on how you look at it" She reaches out and touches his face, stroking his cheek, and he fights the urge to strangle her until her eyes split open. He turns his face away, but she persists, rubbing his jaw bone.

"you're going into the games, Cato" she smiles the most genuinely fake smile he's ever seen, and he's seen a lot of fake smiles.

"then I'll win." he spits out automatically. They've always told him he was a winner. His odds are among the highest; they told him so just a few weeks ago. He's strong and smart and brave, right? He's stoic enough and unhinged enough and brutal enough.

"perhaps you will. and then again, perhaps you won't." She brushes his hair out of his face, caressing his clammy forehead and pouting at his red eyes.

"oh and Cato, don't get too attached to your girlfriend. The odds may not be in her favor"

Before he can assure her that Clove is most definitely not his girlfriend, she reaches the door and closes it behind her with a soft click, heels echoing down the hallway.

{{{

"twenty bucks, upfront" The boy stated in a bored tone, holding out his hand. They aren't allowed to keep money at the institution and any that is found is confiscated, but a few keep small amounts in their rooms for less than legal endeavors. Clove does not; she had never had access to money at home and Cato supplied her for free. Well, almost for free.

The boy is creepy and not particularly attractive but she's desperate because she barely has enough energy to breathe. She steps closer to him, placing a hand on his chest and tilting her face upwards so her lips brush against his.

"maybe we could arrange a different method of payment?" she purrs, her fingers trailing down his shirt and playing with the button on his jeans as her offer dangles between them. His eyes flicker to her chest as he considers her.

"yeah, I think we could work something out" he smirks, grabbing her wrist.

"I need a hit first. Trust me, you won't regret it" she says as he pulls her in the direction of his dorm.

He unlocks the door and Clove almost chokes on the odor. Chemicals burn her throat and sting her eyes and immediately she realizes that this isn't a typical dorm. This is a lab. The desk is cluttered with plastic bottles and tubing, empty cans of cleaning fluids and and medications are strewn haphazardly on the floor amongst heaps of clothing. A boy with shaggy hair lounges on the bed to the right, staring at the television and either ignoring or unaware of their presence.

"dude, out. I got business to conduct" He shoves Clove into the room.

"woah, you can't just kick me outta my own room" he says, grinning as he eyes up Clove. "I won't bother you guys. Or maybe your little fuckdoll here wants to score a little extra when she's done with you? Whatcha think sweetheart?" He winks at her cheekily in a way that makes her want to disappear. But she's made it this far, already shredded her dignity for a packet of white powder. She's a sinner and a slut and some people just can't be saved.

"for a little extra yeah" she agrees, removing her sweatshirt and unbuttoning her jeans.

}}}

"you may go now, Cato, though you will continue to experience pain over the course of the next few weeks as your incisions heal. We'll be keeping a close eye on you, so don't try anything too stupid. have a great day" The doctor recites flatly before briskly exiting the room, leaving Cato with a pair of sweatpants and a sheet with instructions for how to shower with a cast.

He doesn't feel like going back to his room. Instead, he finds himself heading for Clove's room. He doesn't want to be alone because then he would have to deal with the shit in his head and he's far too much of a coward to face that.

It's three am and he wonders briefly if she might be asleep, decides she's probably not. He picks the lock on her door in seconds, his hand executing the task from memory flawlessly. They typically avoid knocking because it means the person on the other side might reject them and neither of them ever acknowledge it but but they're not sure they could handle that.

Her room is dark, draped in looming blue shadows. The bed, however, is unoccupied.

"Clove?" The darkness yields nothing. If she's there, she wishes for her presence to remain unknown. He decides to check the bathroom, in case she's in there puking her guts out again. Her stomach tends to oppose some of her darker habits. It's probably the closest thing she has to a conscience.

He opens the door cautiously, making sure there are no other girls inside. The last thing he needs is being reported for sneaking into the girl's bathrooms. Detecting no sound other than the persistent hissing of the plumbing, he enters, blinking against the harsh light.

She stands before the mirror, hands feverishly clawing at her face. Blood streams down her arms and saturates the collar of her over-sized t shirt. She only seems to register his presence when he grabs her hands, using one of his to hold them behind her back while he presses a wad of paper towel to the worst side, eye already swollen shut. She doesn't squirm or strain against him, Just stands there and stares at her bloody face.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" he growls as she chokes back a sob, grimacing as the salty tears make contact with her raw flesh. One second she's a killer and cold ruthless, and then the next she's crying in the bathroom, weak and pathetic. She can throw knives with dead aim and she can take lives within seconds, but the one thing she can't protect herself against is her own demons. She is slowly eroding and there's nothing he can do about it except know her pain because he's heading in the same direction.

"I-I don't k-know...there was s-something-something in my s-skin" her voice is brittle and far away. He knows that only a small part of her complex and defective mind is processing what's going on.

He sighs, defeated. He's exhausted and doesn't have the energy to deal with this, doesn't have the energy to rescue her. So instead he replaces the soiled wad of paper towels with new ones and drags her back to her room, locking the door behind them.

"got any vics?" He just wants to go to sleep. If he's lucky, maybe he won't wake up.

"just oxys" she shrugs and she locates the bottle under a heap of clothes puts it straight to her lips, shaking at least three down her throat. They are the easiest to get because they can be acquired within the institution, they pharmacy always maintaining a sturdy supply because of the amount of injuries that occur within the facility.

"whatever" he says and she tosses him the bottle. He's really to tired to care at this point. They'll both kill him in the end, right? She climbs into her bed and joins her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burring his face in the crook of her neck. It's not romantic or anything, both of them simply craving the heat and physical contact, searching for warmth as each of them grows steadily colder.

**a/n: what did think? R&R please! also my request for a beta still stands, so if you are one I would interested in working with you. you'll get my love and devotion and virtual cookies and other assortments of useless shit.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

"have you made your selections yet?" The elegantly gaunt man paces back and forth across the office, sleek black hair trailing behind him. His appearance was refined-at least by Capitol standards- yet his presence is imposing and his aura a haze in which one got lost.

"I have, sir" the instructor stands before the head game maker, hands folded respectfully and gaze fixed on the window. The head game maker has violet eyes that the instructor tends to avoid because when he looks at them he can feel himself being dissected, tearing his secrets out and scattering them on the ground, leering as he trips over himself to collect them.

"Excellent. Enlighten me." He pauses in front of the instructor.

"Cato and Clove, numbers 22 and 19, ages 17 and 16 respectively." he produces two files and hands them to the raven haired man, who examines them with detached interest.

"yes, yes" he murmurs as he considers them. "Excellent selection. That girl will go for a fortune on the market if she wins...oh, and what's this?" his interest intensifies as a thin smirk spreads across his face.

"a dope fiend and a crack-whore." he chuckles, stroking the flushed cheek of the instructor with a gloved hand. "This will be interesting, my dear. Very, very, interesting."

}}}

"When you first set foot in the Institution, you were six, maybe seven. There were two hundred of you. As the years went on, that number decreased as the weaker ones died off. Many were killed in training, some in conflicts between students. Slowly, you narrowed yourselves down to the strongest and the smartest. There were no limits in your pursuit of victory, no point which you were not willing to go beyond. Ten years later, twenty of you remain." The instructor pauses briefly, assessing the group of teens before him.

"You are the elites. congratulations for making it this far." he smiles rigidly at them and clove shifts uncomfortably, his last sentence making the whole thing sound like a game-show. For all she knew, it was.

"but even amongst the best, there are the best of the best. Those who rise to the top not because of things they learned here at the Institution but who came to the institution with a predisposition for glory. The institution has nurtured them, but they have transformed into something more. Here we will teach you how to kill but we cannot strip you of your conscience. We can force it into the back of your head and teach you how to ignore it, but there will be a time when it will break free and even we cannot prevent that. We can teach you how to survive but we cannot teach you how to win. You either have it or you don't." He pauses, the festering silence clogging the air.

"Cato, number 22, and Clove, number 19, will be representing District 2 in the 74th Annual Hunger games." He states briskly, watching as each kid processes the news, some relived, some angry.

Slowly, they they turn to look at Clove, faces bank and eyes prying. She doesn't know if she should break down or yell or cheer, so she just stares defiantly at the opposite wall, at the little blue dot and at the eyes she knows are behind it.

Inside, her heart is going into over drive and for a second she contemplates killing herself right then and there with the knife pressing cold against her hip. But then she glances over at Cato on the next set of bleachers, with that stupid, brazen smirk and those mocking eyes.

_go on, do it. Kill yourself before you even get into the arena and show everyone what a pathetic bitch you really are._

}}}

Clove Shakes the bottle, confused and barely coherent. There had been so many in there-how many had she taken? Six, seven? It doesn't matter, all she wants is to forget, to cheat reality for a few hours, find that place that's above heaven and below hell. she runs her fingers over her arm, the once blue vein a faded black smear under bruised skin. She bites her lip, the dry tissue instantly tearing and blood seeping into the little groves in her teeth. At least her teeth are still good, she hasn't lost any yet. She extracts a lighter from her pocket with the intent of cooking up some speed, the flame dancing on her thumb nail before her hand tremors and it falls to floor. A small flame licks at the carpet, expanding gluttonously. Clove stares at it, eyes wide and glassy. A small thought in the back of her mind screams at her to do something, but it's smothered in a haze of Oxycontin before it reaches her consciousness.

Somewhere in the distance a voice-possibly Cato's- is yelling, and she wants to say something, wants to make sure he's OK, And she feels slightly panicked though she's not sure why because it's so warm and sleepy.

Something isn't right and she's not exactly sure what, but it keeps her from drifting completely out of consciousness. It's strange, the fuzzy warmth of oblivion seems a bit too hot, skin prickling as sweat pores expand. She tires to pull herself up in a feeble attempt to relocate, but she can't feel her legs and collapses awkwardly.

It's too fucking hot.

{{{

She tries to open her eyes but something cold and moist is covering them. For a moment she fears that she is drowning but then she gasps and her lungs inflate, heart thudding heavily with panic as the acrid smoke burns her throat. This triggers a new episode of panic and she removes the cloth from her eyes, leaning heavily on the sofa as she tries to locate the fire. But the sudden exposure to light rapes her fragile pupils and shreds her brain. She falls back on the cushions, hands pressed to her temples in a fruitless attempt to keep it all together, hold in her demons in just a little longer.

"fire's out." A raw voice states from the floor, and though it's Cato's she almost doesn't recognize it because it had clearly been crying and Cato doesn't cry. She knows this as a fact, because once she had decided to train late and curiosity had gotten the best of her when she saw the instructor leave his office for the night. She silently picked the lock, and there, in the middle of his desk, was Cato's file like he had left it there on purpose of something. She figured it was maybe a trap of whatever but decided that more likely than not, he had forgotten it after a long and exhausting day. This was before she knew that everything in the Institution is deliberate, and that nothing, almost nothing, is an accident. She opened it, revealing picture of seven year-old Cato with a fresh crew-cut and that same smirk. Beneath that were several pieces of paper with small font that was unreadable in the poor light. The only thing she was able to make out was 'psychopath/ psychopathic tendencies present' stamped in red. A man with long black hair and violet eyes watched her through a screen, in some control room far away, chuckling slightly and shaking his head.

Yet tear after tear runs form his eyes and stains the carpet, fateful needle perched between his fingers. The skin on his arms and chest is glossy and disfigured with sever but not fatal burns. A cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth but he barely even exhales, like he just wants all the filthy smoke to gather in his lungs and dye his organs black. When she feels like she can walk again she gets too her feet and drags him to bathroom, where she turns the shower steps in without bothering to remove her t-shirt, the cold water plastering it to her emaciated figure. Eventually he joins her, visibly relaxing as the icy rain streams over his raw skin. They stare at each other through the spray though they make no move to touch each other, afraid that their hands will only pass through thin air and cold droplets.

}}}

Clove wears a plain white dress that she did not choose. Her hair has been brushed and curled, a caked on layer of make-up hides the purple circles under her eyes and her sickly translucent skin. She stands in the pen with the other sixteen year old girls, but in the back so that no one notices the man standing casually beside her, hand gun pressed discreetly to her side. The girls whisper nervously amongst themselves, a few even crying at the possibility of leaving their families or their boyfriends of whatever. Clove almost laughs, almost tells them to shut the fuck up and go home, that they won't be chosen anyways.

A blue haired woman takes the stage, her absurdly studded gown training behind her. She beams at the crowd and the sun reflects painfully off of her gold teeth-every single on of them solid gold. Clove scoffs at how superficial it all is, wonders who this woman is when she goes to her room at night, when the false eye lashes and the neon purple lipstick wash down the drain, if she looks at herself in the mirror and feels so lost in those fake, electric blue eyes.

"Ladies first!" she announces in such a ridiculously energetic manner that Clove briefly wonders what she's on and where she can get some. Capitol lady shoves her plump arm into the glass orb, withdrawing a slip of paper and bustling up to to microphone in her stilettos.

"Xanthe-" The gun is jabbed roughly into Clove's side and she nearly looses her footing.

"I volunteer!" she shrieks desperately and the gun is removed from her side but kept within close range in case she decides to make a run for it, as if she could even walk in a straight line. She waits to feel something; fear, anxiety, anger, anything, but she doesn't. In fact, she doesn't remember the last time she felt something. Her emotions seeped out of her pores with each opiate induced sweat, washed down the drain with each cold shower. She pictures them clumped together at the bottom of the sewage system, rotting with piss and feces. They escort her to the holding room, though it's more out of habit than anything else, because it's not exactly like there are people lined up outside to wish her luck or tell her they love her, which is totally stupid and counterproductive anyways.

The second they leave her alone she kicks off her shoes and flexes her cramped feet. She removes the pins from her hair and listens to Cato raise hell in the room across the hall, breaking things and possibly killing a few peace keepers. He doesn't seem to be fighting anything in particular, probably just hyped up on adrenaline and a few other substances. It's what he's been taught to do and it's all he knows, probably all he will ever know because most likely he'll die in the arena. He simply doesn't have anything to live for and that's the key to the arena. Its not about intelligence or bravery or skill. Those things help but unless you have something that you care about more than life itself, you'll be just another face in the artificial sky.

A syringe filled with amber liquid sits on the table before her and underneath that a small slip of paper. With out even glancing at the note, she lunges for the needle, dignity evaporating into thin air. She doesn't even consider what this means, that they knew all along, as she plunges it into her bruised arm and tilting her head back as the substance- the purest she's even had- sets her blood on fire and electrocutes her body so that energy pulsates off her. The note flutters to the ground where it lands face down. _'let the games begin',_ it declares to the carpet.

**a/n. a few things; first, I don't particularly care for this chapter but it was necessary at least as a filler, the next will be much more interesting. I feel like this one was kind of blunt and rushed but I'm thinking also it kind of depicts Clove's decline. Is it getting repetitive? please let me know if it is. Second, I want to thank my reviewers, you guys really are awesome and the stuff you say is really my motivation for writing. I write the chapters, but you guys post them. sappy? eh fuck off. ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

"Congratulations!" The escort trills, bustling into the parlor of the train. Her explosive excitement falters slightly when she's met with with blank stares, like a performer faced with a difficult crowd, but she picks up her act and coats herself with a protective layer of enthusiasm, prepared to deflect any negativity that might be brewing with in the sleek metal walls.

Clove settles into a plush chair for a few seconds before getting up and pacing around it, sitting down and standing again. All she can think about is that they know, they know, they know. They've probably know since it started and they probably knew even before that. How they mocked her in that holding room and how she let it happen, how she is no better than them, just a twitching wet-nosed creature who lives for one more fucking hit. How could have not fucking seen that? She must know by now that everything with in the walls of the Institution is deliberate, how stupid she is! The heroin amplifies her adrenaline and it makes her nauseous, her heart pounding so hard she can feel it pushing against her skull.

"I can already tell, the odds will definitely be in your favor!" The escort squeals, and Clove wonders which one of them that remark was directed towards. Cato sits in an identical chair a few feet away, lean and broad shouldered, blonde and obnoxious. His use has defiantly effect him, but not as much as Clove, who had barely any muscle to begin with. The freakishly blue woman stands there awkwardly for a moment, as if she can't find anything into which to channel her boundless energy and the barren walls are deflecting it so it festers in the room like a thick smog.

"Well, you should be getting to your rooms now, we'll be arriving in the capitol in a few hours and you'd best be looking absolutely fabulous! you'll find a complete wardrobe filled with all the latest fashions in your closets. Run along now!" She beams at them and Clove practically sprints to her room, slamming the door behind her kneeling before the toilet, gagging and wrenching. Saliva and a little bit of blood water, she's hardly eaten anything in the past few days. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve she shakily stands up and steps into the shower, tilting her head back as the cold water pours down her face and pours into her eyes so her tears are lost in icy streams.

The water drumming into her ears prevents her from hearing anything but she can feel the zipper of the dress she forgot she had on being undone and peeled off of her, the sodden fabric pooling at her feet. Startled, she opens her eyes to find Cato standing in front of her naked, and for the first time since she's met him, confused. He just stares at her, like he wants to tell her something but doesn't know what he wants to say. She scans his pupils, trying and failing to hack into his mind. That's one of things that's always freaked her out about him, that she has no leverage over him. She can unearth hidden emotions, ensnare them and lure them out so that her target stands naked before her. But with Cato she can't because it would mean dissecting herself as well.

He grabs her by the shoulder, shoving her to the ground. The tiles are even colder than the water and she can feel the heat leaving her bones. He climbs on top of her and clamps his hand over her mouth. She struggles, clawing at the slick tiles, but Cato's much stronger and she's far to weak anyways. She bites at his fingers, digs her nails into his skin, anything to get away. She's not afraid of getting fucked, but she can hear he demons cackling within her and she can't afford to loose it this close to the games. They're all but gone from her mind, sealed up and shacked down in the most obscure corners of her mind but they're getting stronger with each needle, drinking the amber liquid out of her veins. They're festering and they're pulling her down. If Cato does this he will break her and they both know it. As he gnaws on her collar bone and trails his hand over her pale breasts she realizes that's exactly what he intends to do.

She smirks because two can play at this game. If she goes down so be it, but she'll make sure he's right behind her. After all, the show must go on.

He thrusts into her with out any warning and nearly looses his finger as she bites down on it, tears streaming from her eyes. She's no virgin but he's much larger than the boys she fucked for less oxys than they promised. He doesn't seem the slightest bit phased by her discomfort though because he doesn't even give her time to recover before ramming into her again. Blood streams from between their conjoined hips and washes through her hair.

He stares her in the eyes the entire time he fucks her. At one point she she squeezes them shut and he immediately releases her wrists so he can pry them open.

"look at me. _fucking look at me_!" he yells at her swollen pupils, face glistening with water droplets and voice desperate in a way that utterly terrifies her. She struggles harder because she can feel him slowly peeling back the layers behind her eyes, dancing through the labyrinth of warped thoughts as naked impulses cower behind decaying dreams. No one has yet to make it out alive. How fucking stupid he is, searching for her soul. Doesn't he know by now that all he'll find is a shriveled corpse, half buried and rotting in demon shit?

What does he want with her anyways, though? Cato, the boy who inhales oxygen and exhales rage? The one kills with his bare hands and who can never quite get the blood out from under his fingernails? They were just getting high together and now all of sudden they're fucking each other, metaphorically as much as literally.

She spots the tiny chink in his armor as he thrusts into her again, shredding more and more of her fragile anatomy. It occurs to her for the first time that Cato's trying to save her. that he doesn't know how to make her happy or how to love her but he can at least numb her pain so he gives her so much heroin her sense of reality melts and blurs into her dreams and then he gets so fucked up on it himself that he can pretend he's not hurting her as much as he is.

When he finishes, he leaves immediately without a second glance, which is ok with her because she can't bring herself to look at him either. Shakily, she stands, the last of blood streaming down her legs. She washes her hair with something that smells like synthetic strawberries and scrubs her skin until it's raw but she can still his hands, hot and desperate all over her body.

She blow dries her hair and applies half a tube of eye liner. She changes into a slutty black lace dress and doesn't bother concealing any of her cuts and bruises.

Cato sits across from Brutus, hair slicked into a weird floppy mo-hawk that she hates to admit is kind of wicked hot. Their mentor gives a low whistle when she stalks into the room and murmurs something to Cato, who giggles smugly, taking a drag from his cigarette. Both of them are clearly drunk and she makes a mental note to watch out for Brutus, who isn't even trying to conceal the fact that he's practically undressing her with his eyes.

}}}

The capitol air is smokey and foul with muddled perfumes. People with neon skin and cheap smiles chant their names, crammed against the barriers to get a better view of the district two tributes, Cato's already established fan base of prepubescent girls shrieking and wielding posters with hearts and stupid phrases. She smirks, slinking down through the crowd.

_The games have begun. _

{{{

Her prep team recoils in disgust at the little lesions on her arms and the sores on her gums. One of the women shakes her head as she palms Clove's small breasts. They strip her down pluck her apart with a surgical obsessiveness. Three hours later, her hair is curled and piled on top of her head, with loose ringlets dangling around her face. Her nails are shiny and her various blemishes healed with some sort of high tech Capitol shit. The only thing she puts up a fight about is her eye make up; they just can't seem to get it right.

}}}

"Are you fucking kidding me." Clove states disgust when her nervous stylist reveals her chariot outfit. At best, it's insulting. The dress is covered in little metal scales and the head piece had two golden wings that stick out like giant ears. She almost laughs.

"it's actually very, um, unique you see, you know like gladiator armor. The concept-" The stylist rambles on in her ridiculous high pitched Capitol voice, eyes darting around the room as Clove mentally decapitates her in as many ways possible.

"It's a fucking chicken costume. I'd rather go naked, I heard the Capitol loves tits "

"Well maybe if you had some tits to work with that would have been an option." The second it leaves her mouth she regrets it, but she doesn't have time to try and dig herself out of this one because Clove's fist connects with her temple.

{{{

It turns out she doesn't have to worry much about looking like a metallic bird in front of all of Panem, because someone lit the district twelve kids on fire. Once they emerge with their flaming capes and their lovey-dovey facade, no one spares district two a second glance, and both of them are ok with that. the thing about fire is that it only lasts as long it can consume. Once it's on it's own, it burns out. Oh yes, she'll watch them burn.

}}}

"Trainin' starts to-morrow, get yer asses in bed righ' now or you'll a be sorry!" Enobaria slurs from the couch In the district two commons. Brutus sits on the opposite end, as far away as possible from her and equally intoxicated. occasionally they'll glare at each other to keep the repulsion fresh, but it's obvious where they'll end up in the early hours of the morning when they're positive they're shit-faced enough to pretend it never happened the next day.

When Clove enters her room, she can sense it before she even lays eyes on it. It's like her body has become so dependent that it developed senors or something. She sighs heavily, pointedly ignoring it though she knows she won't be able to manage much longer as he dose from earlier is wearing out. She discards her chicken suit on the crisp bed, changing into the softest t-shirt she could find in the revolving closet and freeing her hair from the elaborate up-do. She forces herself out onto the patio, ignoring the creeping chills, that crazy itchy feeling under her skin just a little longer.

The Tribute Building is located in a low mountain range a few miles outside of the Capitol city, so it's nice and quiet and the air is fresh. She closes her eyes and focuses on breathing though the darkness and the cool mountain air do almost nothing to appease her stirring headache. _What the fuck is she supposed to do in the games?_

"did you take yours yet?" he settles down beside her, back pressing against the railing. A coyote howls in the distance.

"I'm not going to." The lie disintegrates in the heavy silence because they both know it's bullshit.

"you are." he murmurs, face jagged with shadows.

"I have to quit for the games. you would to, if you were smart." she mumbles, though she knows that at this point she can't just quit. She hates to admit it because it fucking terrifies her, she's no longer at the point where withdrawal means a bad flu, or even excruciating pain. She's at the point where her lungs can't function with out it. The point where withdrawal would be suicide.

"How long do you think they've known?"

"who knows. could've been the first time you got high. fuck, they could've planned the whole thing. Hey, Cato?"

"yeah?"

"do you...do you think they'll keep sending it to us, like in the games?" another silence ensues, the kind that makes you never wanna speak again.

"...they'll have to. We...I mean we won't last long if they don't. And then the show would just suck." She's knows he's half joking, but it's true. There's no way they would let two members of the Career pack die so early. Especially the ones from district two, who usually do most of the killing.

Eventually Cato leaves so he can go jerk off or watch TV or whatever he does when he can't sleep. She stays on the patio, listening to the coyotes and hugging her knees to her chest. She wishes she were tired.

Ten Floors above them, it seems the fire children are still crackling. Faint wisps of their conversation trickle into the night.

"...I don't just want to be another piece in the games..."

She just can't help it; she bursts into laughter.

**a/n: sorry I've been so inconsistent with updates. I've really been taking it up the ass from life lately, but it's friday night (saturday morning acually) and after I post this I'm going to sleep for like ten hours. regardless, this is probably the longest you'll ever have to wait for an update.  
**


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